The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

I think they might be larger scale games than the ones I sat in on when I was six -- gad, contributing to the delinquency of a minor! -- but I don't think they're being run on the scale of a candy store back room. That's not the sense I've gotten from the stories we've had so far, and I don't think Surpless would have been quite so pointed in his remarks if they were straight up gambling hells.

LaGuardia, as we have seen repeateldly, combines the soul of a Progressive Age reformer with the rigidity of a Puritan. It's an interesting and sometimes unnerving combination.

 

[Fading Fast]

I think they might be larger scale games than the ones I sat in on when I was six -- gad, contributing to the delinquency of a minor! -- but I don't think they're being run on the scale of a candy store back room. That's not the sense I've gotten from the stories we've had so far, and I don't think Surpless would have been quite so pointed in his remarks if they were straight up gambling hells.

LaGuardia, as we have seen repeateldly, combines the soul of a Progressive Age reformer with the rigidity of a Puritan. It's an interesting and sometimes unnerving combination.

Thank you, I now got it: It was closer to the friends and family game on the continuum.

By the time I was 8, I was keeping track of my father's bets for him be it on ballgames or at the racetrack. It was a different time. I can still see the small spiral notebook I used like it was yesterday.

No kidding Re LaGuardia, there is no room for his type in modern politics.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'ese Hollywood charactehs," sighs Sally. "Slappin' people, knifin' people, I ask ya. Ack like a buncha gangstehs." "Heh," hehs Alice. "Whassofunny?" queries Sally. "Oh, nut'n," she shrugs. "I was jus' t'inkin'a ya Unca Frank." "Nut'n funny 'bout t'at," frowns Sally. "He's still inna hawspital. T'ey give 'im a blood transfusion t'fois' night 'e was inneh an' Ma sezzeh watchin' 'im f'obsehvation a'sump'n." "I hope 'e's gonna be awright," exhales Alice. "He's awrways been good t'me. He gimme a job t'eh, when I was jus' a kid, didn' know what it was awlabout, an'nee showed me what it was awlabout." "What IS," propounds Sally, with a glance at her seatmate, "it awlabout?" "I uset'a t'ink I knew," shrugs Alice. "Now I -- guess I didn' know what anyt'ing was awlabout afteh'rawl. But anyways, I hope Unca Frank's awright." "Yeh," agrees Sally.)

Land-based Liberator bombers, intensifying the two-way drive on the Philippines, battered the big port of Davao without opposition in daylight Monday, it was disclosed today as American forces virtually completed their conquest of the stepping stone islands east and south of the Philippines. The Tokyo radio indicated that the Japanese fear a landing by the Americans in the Philippines is imminent. More than 50 Liberators out of the Far Eastern Air Force carried out the attack on Davao, showering 120 tons of bombs on airdromes, supply, and personnel installations.

("Ye know," says Uncle Frank, flopping the paper down on the bed, "thar's gonnarbe a big boom in this waar surploos after th' warr. Ye mark me warrds. Oi've ahllready got some feelars oot t'get in aahn that. Oi'm sure there'll be lootsa -- uh -- ploombin' s'plies I can pick oop far cheap." "Well," sighs Ma, "we bettar get soomthin' gooin'. This haaaspital doon't charge fifty cents'a noit." "Oh," chuckles Uncle Frank, "Oi'm naaaht worried aboot that. Th' bill will get paid." "Yaaaar naaaht," frowns Ma, "plannin' t'put that fool Inky Quinlan ahhn th' case." "Oh, perish th' thaaat," snickers Uncle Frank.)

The Office of Price Administration has begun an investigation into the manufacture and sale toys, in an effort to insure fair prices for all for the coming Christmas season. Investigators intend to devote special scrutiny to new product lines introduced to replace those discontinued due to the war, particularly those replacing metal construction with imitation wood or cardboard. Examiners at a special conference held yesterday at the OPA headquarters in the Empire State Building also indicated there will be a seasonal investigation of the luggage, radio, and jewelry trades.

Some degree of work on the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, construction of which was halted by the war in September of 1942, could be resumed as soon as the Government issues its OK, and the project could be under construction again at full speed within three months of that approval. An inspection of the work site by the New York Tunnel Authority reached that conclusion after the Authority applied to the War Production Board to permit the manufactue of 790 tons of bolts, nuts, and washers needed for the project, as mentioned by Mayor LaGuardia in his Sunday broadcast. All other material needed to resume work on the tunnel is on hand and ready for use.

("Yeah, but Jerry Colonna's still funnier.")

(So you're saying Mr. Parrott is Rickey's shill? That's mean. It's true, but it's still mean. Oh, and ask him for a new headshot of Leo. He's put on a lot of weight since 1938.)

(Abbot & Costello? Hmph. Whatever became of Olsen & Johnson?)

(Well, at least he doesn't throw bricks.)

(Every successful gambler has a system.)

("Well, define 'spy.'")

(You can never put one over on A GAS STATION ATTENDANT!)

("Hmph! A bowl of chili? Well, better'n nothing.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And you thought they'd forgotten.

Tommy Dorsey smokes reefers? Krupa I can believe, but TOMMY DORSEY??? Anyways, Pat wasn't aiming for your nose, she just couldn't take those ridiculous sideburns.

You really like this, don't you Tracy?

"Smells in heeh," sighs Joe, glancing around the crowded interior of the bouncing, rattling truck for the source of the particular aroma. "Hmph," hmphs the Corporal. "You ain't no fragrant flowuh yo'self."

That's it, kid. Perky optimism.

Everyone scores a lucky shot now and then.

Have another donut, Sarge.

Well, hey, it's a long war and life is short.

"We're going to sneak out to the car without Mama. Give us a half an hour lead time before you let on."

New assistant, Mr. Willard?

 

[Fading Fast]

It's going to be sad but also interesting to see how the public reacts to the Battle of the Bulge as it is already tasting victory.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Vanilla syrup!" sighs Ma. "It's waaarth ye loife t'get that stoof as it is, an' 'eer they goo spreadin' it aaahl ovarr th' street." "Oh, whoi didn't ye say ye needed vanilla syrup," offers Uncle Frank, still pale after his hospital stay. "Oi can get'chee vanilla syrup. Oi know a man handles a whool loine a' syrups an' essences oot in Far Rockaway." "''Zit any goood?" queries Ma. "Ye should taste 'is Scotch flavarred syrup," chuckles Uncle Frank. "Been usin' it farr years. Nivvar had a coostomar complain yet." Ma's eyes narrow, as Uncle Frank pats his pockets in search of something he does not find. "If ye lookin' far thim cigars ye had stored in ye suit," scowls Ma, "ye can keep lookin' 'til kingdoom coom." "Ohhh, now Nora," pleads Uncle Frank. "Now Nora noothin'," snaps Ma, slapping her hands down on the counter. She sees Uncle Frank's eyes wandering to the cigar case. "Annnn' DOON'chee be gattin' noo ideaars aboot raidin' me stock," Ma thunders, holding up a small key and dropping it ceremoniously into her budge. "Oi'm keepin' thaat case under laaahck 'n key, an' ye'll naaht be gettin' insoide. An' if ye get any oidears aboot pickin' that laaahck, Oi got me hairpins hid away wharr ye'll not foind 'em." A bead of sweat trickles down Uncle Frank's forehead as he glances toward the door. "An' THAT'll do ye noo good," proclaims Ma. "Oi went aaahl oop an' down th' whool neighbarhood, an' ahhl th' way oop t' Bedfarrd Avenarr boi ye office, an' Oi told every shopkeepar not t'sell ye no cigars. Yaaar gonna do as the doctarr tells ye an' yaar goona loike it." Uncle Frank slumps down on his stool. "Can't Oi just SNIFF one?" "Go ask ye friend in Far Rockaway," snickers Ma. "Maybe'ee's gaaaht cigar-flavarred syrup.")

A great tank battle, perhaps the biggest of the European invasion, was resumed today on the flat plains northwest of Dieuze, as gunners of the American Third Army knocked out at least 130 German tanks during their drive toward the Siegfried Line. Despite heavy losses, the Germans were reported to be fighting viciously in an effort to halt the full-scale American armored advance on the Siegfried Line, now only 25 miles away.

Nineteen New York uniform manufacturers and wholesalers face Federal lawsuits for violating Office Of Price Administration regulations. The manufactuers are accused of charging Navy and Merchant Marine sailors up to $45 each for uniforms made to retail for $28, and while the firms are not charged with violating ceiling-price laws, they are accused of failing to keep proper price records documenting base prices charged in March of 1942. Complaints from sailors argued that the prices of uniforms now stands 20 to 50 percent ahead of the March 1942 scale. The Navy, which discourages enlisted men from purchasing tailor-made uniforms, but does not outright prohibit the practice, says that it understands such uniforms are now priced between $30 and $40. Temporary restraining orders have been issued barring the firms from selling Navy or Merchant Marine uniforms for five days after service while the case is investigated.

("Huh," huhs Sally. "Gettaloada t'is. 'Magine woikin' inna city, not havin' t'ride 'is damn train ev'ry day." "Meh," mehs Alice. "I do'wanna woik in no awffice. B'sides, I'm a supehviseh. T'ey ain' putt'n me back on no line." "Yeh," sighs Sally, "I do'wanna woik in no awffice neit'eh, bawsses chasin' ya aroun,' pinchin' ya backside. Had enuffa t'at at Woolwoit's. An'n ev'n'if t'ey put me awn assembly, who knows what kin'a supehviseh t'ey got t'eh. Prob'ly an'oteh Mildred Kelly?" "Hm," hms Alice. "She still at Sperry's?" "I hope so," snickers Sally. "She an'nat Miss Kaplan d'soive each ot'eh." They ride on for a time in silence. "Sal," ventures Alice, "whatta you gonna do afteh t'wawr?" Sally measures her thoughts. "I dunno," she sighs. "I really dunno.")

(Abbot & Costello playing Loew's Met? Eatcha hearts out, Olsen & Johnson.)

("I can, though, and it stunk!")

(Thirty nine and a half games out with a week to go. Well, at least it's not forty.)

(Lisa spends a lot of time listening to "The Romance of Helen Trent," who is, incidentally, also over 35.)

("Due diligence.")

(Well, you'll probably get another chance.)

(Tomorrow on Page Four...)

("Wait, what's in the bowl?")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Asked for his opinion, Mr. McCarthy cackled and replied "I TRIED TO WARN HIM!"

"Humblebrag."

Tracy boxes every Saturday night at the Y.

NO MEANS NO

"Will you want your food tasted? Promise I'll do a good job!"

"They'll look raaaht purty with mah knob toed yaller shoes!"

"Sure, that's it."

"Just remember to keep up on the tax bills! Abyssinia!"

"Welp, time to stow away on another plane!"

"I sympathize, kid." -- Diego Rivera.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

WHY AIN'T YOU BUMS IN THE ARMY!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("You gonna lissen t''t' Pres'dent t'night?" queries Sally. "Oughta be a good one." "Ehhh," ehhs Alice. "You know I do'n like politics. I neveh even voted." Sally gapes with astonishment. "Whattaya mean ya neveh even voted??" she gasps. "How c'n'ya live innis country an' neveh even vote?" "I dunno," shrugs Alice. "Jus' neveh got aroun' to it. An' bsides now, I ain' allowed t'vote." Sally's eyes widen. "Whassatmean?" she questions. "Of COU'ESE y'allowed t'vote! On'y people AIN'T allowed t'vote innis state is if ya ain' a citizen, awr if y'ra convicted FELON." "Um," ums Alice, realizing the door she's opened, "yeh, um, din'cha know? I mean -- um -- I dunno if -- uh -- I'm a citzen awr not. Yeh, t'at's it. See, um, whenney foun' me onna Fulton Street L nobody knew who my fam'ly was, awr weh t'ey come fr'm, awr if I was bawrn' innis country a'nawt. See? So -- uh -- I can't -- um -- prove I'm a citizen, so I ain' allowed t'vote. Yeh!" "T'at's t'stupides' t'ing I eveh hoid of," frowns Sally, folding her arms. "Lissen, me'n you awr gonna absentee fr'm woik one day nex' week an' we'eh gonna straight'n'is out. We'eh gonna go t' t'at home you was in an' tawk t't'em sistehs, an' we'eh gonna go t' Borra Hawl an'na Healt' D'pawrtm'nt, an' awla t'em places an' we'eh gonna fin' out 'zackly what's goin' awn an' we'eh gonna make it so you c'n vote." "But -- uh -- " sputters Alice. "We can't absentee fr'm woik, t'ezza wawr on!" "T'ezza wawr on so YOU c'n vote!" snaps Sally. "We'eh jus' gonna cut out t'middle man." "Yeh," exhales Alice. "What?" demands Sally. "Nut'n....")

The son of former police Lieutenant Cuthbert Behan is believed to be a prisoner of war in Germany, according to a shortwave radio report from Berlin picked up by a Manhattan radio listener who passed the message on to the elder Behan, who now operates a bar and grill on Court Street. Army Air Force Lt. Cuthbert J. Behan Jr. was reported in a War Department telegram received by his parent to be missing in action, but his name was subsequently given in the German broadcast listing the names of American war prisoners.

Those homes in Nassau County that have been without power since last week's hurricane should see their electricity restored by Monday or Tuesday of next week, according to a statement from the Long Island Lighting Company. Company President Edward F. Barrett noted that all major repair work is complete, and the company will now concentrate on restoring power to isolated sections and individual homes that remain without service.

All German laws giving authority to the Nazi Party in Allied-occupied portions of Germany have been formally abolished by the Allied Military Governments now in operation, as have all Nazi edicts enforcing racial discrimination and all laws protecting the Nazi flag, symbols, insignia, and uniforms. The military government has seized all funds, property and equipment belonging to the Nazi Party, but Nazi officials in administrative roles have been compelled under penalty of death to remain at their jobs until they can be replaced. German civilians have been ordered to surrender all firearms and radio transmitting equipment, and all travel across borders is at the sole discretion of the Allied command.

(The Boys From Marketing are back from the war!)

("Stiff, clammy, and heavy." Well, that's kinda been the whole season, hasn't it?)

(Don Ameche, action star? Well, maybe, if you squint.)

(The Town Where No One's Happy.)

("Trust but veri -- oh, never mind.")

(Oooh, noir!)

(Well, that's that. NEXT STORY.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG is no stray mutt! Can I have some more?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The stickup boys are back from the war too.

"Is that fair??? I couldn't get a cab!"

"For better or for worse" is relative when you're married to Wilmer Bobble.

You're way out of your league, Dunk.

Create a need and fill it.

"Um, you've forgotten all about Lana Lonigan, right?"

"I'm from the Treasury Department. You ARE planning to declare the value of those jewel-encrusted iron cats, aren't you? Yeah, those. The stuff that dreams are made of."

Annie, you little Wobbly you.

"Oh no, grandmother -- he's strictly a mouldy figge."

"You ready to make a break for it, wrinkles? Because I'm ready to make a break for it!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

A gentler time.

 

[Fading Fast]

Alice gonna have some splainin to do.

**************************************************************

"Don Ameche, action star? Well, maybe, if you squint."

You'll get no argument from me about Ameche, but he's pretty good here as the aloof flight commander in a by-the-numbers but entertaining enough WWII propaganda movie about the Battle of Midway.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's like t'is," sighs Alice, poking at a banana split as Ma and Uncle Frank listen attentively. "Sal's all soeh 'cause I told 'eh I can't vote, an'..." "Well now," exhales Ma, "THAT was a bloody fool thing t'say!" "Let'arr finish," admonishes Uncle Frank. "Yeh, yeh," agrees Alice, "I knew t'at as soon's I said it. So I told 'eh t'reason I can't vote is b'cause I dunno if I'm a citizen a'nawt. An' now she wawntsta go an' see t'sistehs at t'home, an' City Hawl an' awlem places an' get t'at straightened out. I know I ain' gawt no boit' c'tificiate, I dunno nut'n bout weh I came from, but ev'n I DID, I wouln't be able t'registeh t' vote 'cause I went t' stir! An' if Sal goes pokin' too deep, how long ya gonna t'ink it's gonna be befoeh she fines'at out? An' if she fines out I was in stir, she's gonna fine out WHY I was in stir, an'nat means it's gonna lead right t' YOU." "Oi knew it was gonna be trouble th' two'a ye bein' friends!" frowns Ma. "Oi knew it soon as ye come back t'town!" "Look," scowls Alice, "in case ya f'gawt, I neveh even DONE'at t'ing t'ey sent me up fawr, at leas' not e'zackly. Mickey was'a one drivin'a truck t'at night, not me. But I took t' rap t'keep 'im outa trouble, an' I kep' me mout' shut. Five yeehs I was inneh an' I kep' my mout' shut. An' I'm still keepin' my mout' shut. Sal don' know a t'ing about any of it, an' she ain' GONNA. So I figyeh -- t'two'a yez OWE me f'rawlat. You gotta know SOMEBODY can fix it like ya fixed it f' Willie? Ain'neh some politician a' sump'n?" Uncle Frank exhales, reaches into his pocket for a pen, and jots a quick line on a paper napkin. "This is Inky Quinlan's phoon noombar," he declares. "Oi'm naaaht makin' ye no prahhmises, an' Oi'm not tellin' ye what t'do aaahr tellin' Inky whaat t'do, aahr havin' noothin' t'do with it. Ye oondarstaand? Oi'm joost givin' ye Inky Quinlan's phoon noombar as a mattar ooov infarrmation. What ye choose t'do with it, an' whatevaar arrangements ye make, Oi don't know noothin' aboot, an' Oi don't waant t'hear noothin' aboot. Ye oondarrstand??" Alice gazes at the napkin, and nods in agreement. "An' ye aaalso oondarstand," glares Ma, "this settles aaaahr oobligation." Alice frowns and looks into Ma's hard grey eyes. "Yeh," she nods, absently blotting her lips with the napkin. "Um," she requests, noting the large blob of chocolate sauce thus transferred, "couldja write it onneh again?")

Huge forces of bombers and fighters streamed across the channel toward the continent this morning, possibly going toward the aid of Allied forces in Holland, as an estimated 500 Italian-based heavy bombers hammered industrial targets in the Sudetenland. Other squadrons of 15th Air Force heavies lashed at railroads in southern Austria and bridges in northeastern Italy while three formations of Mitchell bombers blasted the German-held 5000-ton Italian cruiser Taranto at the La Spieza naval base. The warship was set afire, it was reported from Rome.

Police arrested four men yesterday in connection with Friday's wave of holdups in Brooklyn and Manhattan, which over two hours netted the bandits $43,000 in cash. Another burglary, reported yesterday in Queens, brought the two-day total to $45,000. Anthony Castarella and John LaRocca of Manhattan were arrested for the $12,000 holdup of an ex-policeman working as a messenger for the Sutro Brothers brokerage firm. LaRocca, aged 32, is a former professional baseball pitcher who in 1939 was sold by the New York Yankees to the Brooklyn Dodgers. Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, 31-year-old Alfred "Shots" Loretto and his 28 year old brother Louis, both of Bensonhurst, were picked up on a vagrancy charge, and were being questioned in connection with the robbery of Mrs. Esther Goldberg, who was held up by three armed men for $10,000.

(The Borough of Churches, Temples, and Mosques.)

(Seventh place! Woo hoo, let's go!)

("He's dead? HOLD HIM FOR QUESTIONING!")

(That's all you got? C'mon, pull yourself together! You're BUGS BUNNY, not Woody Woodpecker!)

(Mr. and Mrs. Bushmiller have a very happy marriage, honest.)

(To be honest, though, he did sit down a couple of times while he was giving the speech.)

(Horse racing is one of the big three professional sports in America in 1944, behind baseball and boxing, but as far as the funnies are concerned it's clearly Number One.)

(Sorr, Herr Stoltz, but I think we need to let Shostakovich have that job.)

("No, don't stop -- I'm in a hurry!" -- F. Costello.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And a quick check of the Spalding Guide finds that Mr. LaRocca never actually played for either the Yankees or the Dodgers. He was strictly a farmhand, who last played for the Yankees' Kansas City club in the American Association in 1938, and never actually played in the Dodger organization at all. Probably borrowed money from Larry MacPhail and never paid it back.

OK, so the one with the hippo was funny, but this is just mean.

I haven't slept thru a night in more than a month, so yeah, I can identify.

"You dropped something," notes Dr. Levine, as Sally rises from the couch at the end of her session. "It fell from your purse." "Oh," replies Sally, reaching for the slip of paper. "That's all right," injects Dr. Levine, "I have it. Hm. Who's Pete Coscarart?" "Jus' somebody," flushes Sally, snatching the clipping away. "Ah," ahs Dr. Levine.

Mr. Gould, you have outdone yourself.

Where's Nick Gatt when we need him?

Seems to be the day for "big hunksa stuff."

I'd love doorstops like that, gems or no gems. And I'm just not sure about this new direction for "Smilin' Jack."

"But don't worry, now we can get it wholesale!"

"Act your age, puss?" YOU'RE A DEAD MAN, DUNK!

 

[Fading Fast]

Alice does five years in stir for Mickey, Ma's son, and Ma via Frank gives Alice the name of a forger and Alice agrees that settles the obligation. That could be the single worst, single most unfair deal we've seen on all these news pages in all the years we've been doing Day-to-Days, including real news, comics and "Sally's World" (or "The Ma Stories," I like the latter title better). It's worse than the police keeping Costello's money. Alice, march yourself back in there and tell Ma, no deal, a phone number doesn't square five years behind bars for her son!

 

[LizzieMaine]

Somehow I don't think anyone has heard the end of this...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("OPEN UP, FRANK!" comes a foghorn voice at the door of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating. "I KNOW YA INNEH!" With a sigh, Uncle Frank emerges from his back room, snaps on a light in the office, and makes his way to the door, where a red-faced Alice Krause pushes past him in a fuming rage. "And t'what do Oi owe th' pleasurre," smiles Uncle Frank thru clenched teeth. "Can t' blawrney," snaps Alice. "You'n me gonna tawk. I wen'noveh t'see Inky Quinlan jus' now." "Ahhhh," exhales Uncle Frank, fiddling in his pockets for solace he will not find. "An' how is me good friend Inky?" "Go ask'im yaself," growls Alice. "I t'rew 'im downa flighta staiehs." "Didjee now?" gulps Uncle Frank, leaning back against the desk for support. "Yeh," continues Alice. "I didjee. I cawlt'im up afteh woik, an'nee says 'come oveh heeh an' we'll tawk it oveh.' So I went, an'na rat tried t'-- well, I sez to 'im, "I'm a married woman,' an'nee says 'oh, my deeh why stand aaahn protocols,' an'nee done -- well, he done like t'is 'eeh. So I t'rew 'im downa flighta staiehs." "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "An' now," growls Alice, "ya gonna do sump'n f'me. Ya gonna do sump'n'about t'is votin' t'ing, right?" "Oi really doon't knoo noothin' 'boot votin'," demurs Uncle Frank. "As ye knoow, Oi never did take oot me paparrs. Aaahlways meant to, but, chee'know, t'press'a business..." "Noitz t't'at," returns Alice, her fists balling. "Y'know, I got e'nuff on you t'sen' ya t' Atlanna Prison f'ra good lawng stretch, an'nen getcha depawrted b'sides. An'na ol' lady too. Howyalike t'soun'a t'at?" Uncle Frank swallows hard, his face sweating, but says nothing. "Look," exhales Alice. "I dowanna make trouble fawr ya. T'ink about t'is. How you t'ink Sal's gonna reack if she fin's out about what t'two'a'yez really do f'ra livin'? You t'ink t'at ain' gonna drive 'eh right backta Bellevue? What happens t' Leonoreh? What happens t' Joe when'nee comes back fr'm t'wawr? You helped raise 'eh, Frank. You do'wanna do t'at to 'eh, you know y'don't. But if we don't do sump'n, you know weh awliss is headed. Now you can't tell me, a man'nat gets aroun' like you do, you can't tell me you don't know some guy, one'a t'em Tammanies maybe, t'at couldn' fix me up wit' a voteh registration c'etificate? T'em guys c'n make dead people vote, an' I ain' even got one foot inna grave. So GET BUSY." "Tam'prin' with elections ain't like roonin' whisky," frowns Uncle Frank. "Look, heehs what we'el do," declares Alice. "You get it fixed so I c'n vote wit' no questions asked, an' I'll go in'neh an' I won't pull no levehs. I'll jus' pulla coiten, pick me fingehnails f'ra few minutes, an'nen come out. Izzat awright f'ya conscience?" Uncle Frank glares at Alice, and Alice glares back. "Ahhl roit," Uncle Frank sighs. "Oi'll taaalk t'wa man Oi know oowes me a favarr, an' see'f'ee caan't pool a few strings. An' in retarrrn, Oi wan'chee t'do soomthin' farr me." "No deals, Frank," scowls Alice. "Y'do what I wawnt awr..." "Oh, it's naaaht a deal," hastens Uncle Frank. "Meerely a smaaal favarr." Alice shrugs. "Awright," she agrees. "Name it." "Oi woondar if ye moit," wheedles Uncle Frank, "waaalk oovar t'th' Liggett's aaahn th' carnarr here, an' get me a -- ahh -- a boxa Whoite Owls." Alice stares for a moment and erupts in a loud guffaw. "Invincibles," adds Uncle Frank, his voice taking on a pleading tone. "Boxa fifty. Here's a foiver. Ye c'n keep th' change." Alice shakes her head in amazement. "Deal," she chuckles, accepting the money. She starts for the door, and stops short. She unfolds the bill and holds it up to the light. "T'is ain't," she queries, "one'a Inky's, izzit?" "Oh, no," assures Uncle Frank. "G'wan now, horry oop." With a final bemused snicker, Alice heads out on her errand...)

Finnish troops today were reported to have taken the Russian frontier town of Suomussalmi in a northward drive to expel or disarm German forces remaining in Finland and comply with the terms of the Soviet-Finnish armistice. An official announcement in Helsinki said the Finns have continued their advance toward northern Finland, with no reports of any clashes with German troops. The advance was being slowed, however, by the German destruction of bridges and roads. Other reports asserted that remaining Nazi forces are burning villages and farmhouses, and seizing Finnish officials.

(TIck tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...)

(Coming events...)

("Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Who eveh hoid'va president eat'n potateh chips. I bet t'at hokey moustache'a his is awl fulla crumbs." "Mistarr Roosevelt," recalls Ma, "eats haht dogs. Remembarr at th' Warrld's Fair." "Yeh," concedes Sally, "but he neveh ate no p'tateh chips. C'n you imagine a pres'dent goin' onna aieh, an'neese givin' a speech, an' awl t'ru it y'heeh'rim crunchin' awn p'tateh chips? I mean, if y'wanna eat a hawt dawg, go ahead, t'at don' make no noise. But I jus' can't get b'hind a guy would eat p'tateh chips inna White House. Jus' makin' extra woik f't'janitehs, cleanin' up awlem crumbs. It ain' class conscious! Ahh, whatta you caeh anyway, you don't vote." "I run a strictly naaahn p'litical business," declares Ma. "Oi gladly sarrve aaahl creeds, cahhlars, 'n races, an' that includes politics. Boi th' way, daaaghter, don't be leavin' non'a yarr A. L. P. pamphlets aaahn me coontar noo marr, Oi doon't need noona that clootar in here." "Ahhh," dismisses Sally, sucking down the last of her Coke, "people like you's what's wrawng wit'tis country. Buncha p'tateh chip eatehs dunno what's good fawr'm." "YOU like p'tateh chips!" pipes Leonora from the magazine rack. "NAWT INNA WHITE HOUSE!" snaps Sally, as Ma stifles a chuckle.)

(Incidentally, Babe Herman, at the ripe old age of 41, is hitting in the .340s out in the Pacific Coast League. If we can get excited about Grampa Davis winning 10 games, the Incredible Hoiman is at least worth a tryout, don'cha think Mr. Rickey?)

(Oh, and make sure he takes his briefcase with him -- YOU NEVER KNOW!)

(Yes, THINK OF IT!)

(Look, how bout we leave this spy stuff to actual spies?)

(Oops.)

(ANOTHER COURAGEOUS TRIUMPH FOR AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News..

Carole Landis, a thoughtful and intelligent woman who happens to work in the movies, says "Thank you for not calling me 'the Ping Girl.'"

"They never let ME carry a gun!" -- Jinx.

Point of order: shouldn't the streaks of gore extend the full length of the pole? Go full gruesome, Mr. Gould, or go home.

Good old Burms, the world's kindly old aunt.

I can't tell if this is supposed to be Peter Lorre or Mayor LaGuardia.

NO MEANS NO!!!!!!

Well, at least Mr. Gray favors compulsory education, I think.

Meanwhile, in San Bernadino, California, the McDonald Brothers look over their balance sheet and wonder if there might be an easier way to make money...

"Wait'll you see him box!"

Take that, Kay and Mae!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Aaaaaaaaan they're offfffff!

 

[Fading Fast]

I was so proud of Alice tears welled up in my eyes.

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Re, Ms. Landis' nickname (from Wikipedia): "A press agent nicknamed her "The Ping Girl" (an awkward contraction of "purring")."

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"Wait'll you see him box!"

Just be glad it isn't a young Aussie girl with a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand and holding a little baby.